


Fugue

by Self_san



Series: When the Earth Kissed the Sky [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe-Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Q, Bond is a pain, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:27:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Self_san/pseuds/Self_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where in Bond is a pain in Q's arse, but maybe something might be able to come of it. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fugue

007 looks like a thug. He looks like every rough-cut hitter and military man she has ever met. (And she’s met quite a few.)

But he wears wealth like a second skin, like something that’s intimately a part of him, with his tailoring and platinum cufflinks. The suits, the shirts, the trousers--it all comes together to mask the killer, to turn the eye away from the fact that his knuckles are scarred and his skin is rough with all the years he has seen.

It’s frankly… _fascinating_. The dichotomy between what he is and what he seems.

Though, Q would just like to be able to _stop seeing connections to what she isn’t._

It’s exhausting.

*

So, Bond hadn’t know she was a woman.

That’s fine.

Funny, actually, if she takes a second to think about it.

Was it her hair? Her face? Her parka? Admittedly, Q has always been rather…androgynous, and the parka _did_ hide the small amount of chest she did have, and her hair was still short because, after it grew from being shaved, she just hadn’t had it in her to deal with, long.

The showers were certainly shorter, in any case.

Still. Her. A man.

Funny.

*

Q doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to think of the new M as just _M._

But he was good, she would give him that, and he stayed out of her way, which was nice.

He, however, refused to clear Bond for service until the man _actually passed_ all of his tests.

That left lots and lots of time for Bond to hang about headquarters.

 _Lots_ of time.

*

“Brought you a present, Q,” Bond said when Q first walked in, a cold, rainy Tuesday night. She had spent the last 24 hours trapped in her flat because _people_ started to get _concerned_ when one didn’t leave a room except to pee for over thirty-six hours.

Whatever. _They_ clearly had never had their own inadequacies thrown into their faces by a bloody mad man. _So_.

And Q _had_ spent those 36 hours tearing down MI6’s _entire cyber system_ and rebuilding it, step-by-step, until she was utterly _certain_ that no one but Q herself would _ever_ be able to play with it like Silva did, again.

Ever.

So, she had been bustled out of the office by a _helpful_ Tanner and into a taxi to go and sleep off everything in her soulless shoebox.

Yes, it had been restful, alright. Because it wasn’t like she hadn’t been up and ready to come back in at the earliest time possible, either.

And there she was, tired still, but in new clothes and with new ideas rushing through her head and a fresh cup of Earl Gray in hand and ready to work--

And there was Bond.

And he gave her his tooth.

Staring at it, she ran her thumb over the surface, turning it in her palm carefully. It still had a bit of gum attached to it.

Ew.

But Q remembered watching Silva’s face _melt_ when he took out that plate, and she _knows_ what hydrogen cyanide does to the internal organs of a person, and should have _known_ that Bond would be by to be outfitted with something new.

Q, actually, kind of wants to kick herself at first, before she remembers that, right, she had been _forced_ to leave, and this _was_ on her list of things to do, _so_.

“Why, thank you 007,” she said drolly, setting the tooth onto her table and thinking about the amount of explosive she could fit into its tiny shell.

“So, can you equip me?” Bond asked, and he was close enough that his shadow stretched out over her desk.

Q just hummed.

*

Bond flirts like he breathes, so it isn’t the least bit surprising when he tries to turn it on Q.

It doesn’t work.

*

Q literally _choked on her spit_ when she saw Bond sitting at her station in the fab-room, his fingers playing over a new Walther PPK/S that she was working on.

(Again. And, God, wasn’t that the ass-end of the fucking deal.)

Around him were the neat stacks of all of Q’s tangible blueprints, for bullets and explosives and smaller radios and computer programming that she was thinking of implementing. (Because she had never been able to get _out_ of the habit of jotting down her thoughts to pin up, blown around her in a wind of papers and brilliancy.)

The sight stoped her heart and _infuriated_ her to the point of madness.

 _Stop touching that!_ She wanted to scream like a child, harpy-loud and high enough to break the sound barrier.

Her minions were all suspiciously absent. Which was good.

Because it was never acceptable to commit homicide before the masses, and by God had Bond almost driven her there.

“This has a nice weight,” Bond remarked casually, looking over his shoulder at her. He set it down and stood, straightening his suit jacket.

Q looked like a _hobo_ next to him, her fingers spasming around her computer-bag strap, her lips pressed together so that she doesn’t start shooting obscenities at him.

She stalked forward, her fingers already flicking through her notes when she stoped, making sure Bond didn’t _move_ anything.

“Yes, thank you, I’ll make note of that,” Q made herself say, terse and quietly angry.

She turned on her heel, because she couldn't just leave it at that. She couldn't ever just leave things alone.

She looked into Bond’s eyes, and there’s some quiet humor there, amusement at her being so riled, and it just makes Q _angrier._

Huh, she and Bond are almost the same height.

“Please, don’t touch my things without me here, 007. It’s bad enough you have a horrid habit of not returning my equipment, I’d _hate_ to have to explain to M that his best agent got blown up messing around in Q-Branch.”

“ _Habit_?” Bond parroted quietly while she was talking, and she pinned him with a stare.

He just grinned and tiped his imaginary hat at her as he backed away to the door.

“As you wish, darling.”

Q scoffed.

*

007 is a pain in the arse.

 


End file.
